Wessington Springs herald. (Wessington Springs, Aurora County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1891, 1887-03-25
"But l never a do that Hermie."

WOuiu II! wen, IL you e asuhlleO VI Nuti
love for Cyril Mortimer, ynl had better
stay where you are, and lot him-die; 1
confess l think it would be better for him,
at least"
Hermie was angry. for olce, with her
cousin, and left the bowed figure and wen:
back 10 her seat by the window.
The sunset light had died out now. and
the moonlight lay glinting on the black
waves: from beneath. somewhere on The
shore, some one was singing in n soft,
sweet voice
Some will love, and some must Wait;
But alas for the love that comes too late"
and the words came strangely distinct and
impressive to the two silent listeners in the
dusky room. Ethel came forward and
knelt by Hermie. laying her head OH her
knee; the moonlight fell over both, making
a sad, yet lovely picture Of the two young
faces; one, full of tenderness, now, and
pity, the other, more beautiful, but sad and
fearful.
still the singer went on, until the soft,
melting air trembled again over the plain
tive line, "But alas, for the love tlat comes
too late!"
II wonder, Hermie, if they're Singing of
such a love as mine and Cyrifs?"
eyes, dear; and you must besfr your
proud heart, or it will be '~tooilate' for
poor Cyril-poor, suffering, Cyril"
Miss Sangster made no answer but with
a mute appeal in her face, wen back to
her chair.
Lights were brought in; ana presently
Aunt Sherman came up with rlsre news to
talk over than the two girls lad gathered
in a week; and. to all Appearances, Ethel
Sangster had forgotten that she was mis-
CRADLE"
The scene changes.
"Do you think he will live, doctor?"
The question comes pitsously, and the
pathos of the low, anxious tones, goes to
his heart like q knife; yet, after all, it is
only a 1.-THE of what she feels.
She stands at the foot Of the bed, gazing
with hot, fearless eyes, on the face of the
sufferer; her own as white as that of the
wasted form on the pillow, and giving
more evidence of acute pain. The ply
sician looks at her keenly before he
answers; then he says slowly:
II think he might live, if he had al
incentive; something to call him back TO
life; something worth living for, you know.
You see, Miss Sangster, he is whore be
needs a r~allying influence more than pre-
scriptions," and the wise old physician
ceased speaking, just when he had said
enough. Some way he had read Ethel;s
secret in her ~agonized face and manner,
blessed tonic for both.
DIR. Winthrop had departed, the sunset
light trembled through the ivy-latticed
window, and fecked the so,nber- hued
carpet with little hopeful CLEANS. Uncle
Edward and Aunt Allie had gone down
stairs for a while, leaving the sick man
with their niece, and he wa sleeping now
quietly.
Ethel came and sat down by the bedside,
with a great pain at her heart.
No "in~centive;" the fault was hers. She
might not be to blame Cor his entire H.
ness-evely one was liable 10 fall ill and
die but the hopelessness of the case
rested with her.
He had not spoken a word to her since
she came. and that was yesterday; he did
not seem 10 recognize her either. Suppose
he never again should speak to
her until, mayhap in the judgement he
might rise up and say: "there she is! the
one who killed me by her distrust." Oh!
it was awful to bring him a love that
perhaps was "too late" The proud head
bowed down until the coronal of brown
braids rested on the pillow beside that of
the sleeper. md a moan Of deep anguish
came from the white lips of Miss Sangstcr.
The sick man moved uneasily and
opened his eyes. Somebody moaned, he
thought, OF was it a part of a troubled
dream? He was too weak to raise his
head to see if any one was near; he
put out his hand, with difficulty, for he
was sure some one had moaned at the
bedside. Two white jeweled hands
clasped the weak, trembling fingers, and
presently a hot tear fell on the emaciated
face.
1t was growing dark in the room now,
ard he could not see who was grieving over
him; had some distant relative come to
shed tears of sympathy over his desolate
condition?
He could not remember of any one likely
to do this, but his forehead was pressed
gently by q hand. If it could only be her
but she-he had no claim on her; if he had
why, he would not be lying here patiently
waiting for dissolution.
A cheek, soft and warm, lay against hit
for a moment, and q tender clasp Of the
fingers told him that love was there in the
shadows.
"Who is it," he whispered.
at is 1; Ethel Sangster. dearest"
Was it a beautiful dream, and would it
blessedness fade if he moved? No; The,
in the quiet that followed not a word wa
said, but the thin fingers ven stealth,
softly VI and around her neck, and a tear
wet face nestled down by his on the pillow
"Ethel, love" he whispered, presently.
"Yes, Cyril, I shall always be near you
it is yes"
"Ah: this is happiness" he murmuret
down against the queenly head, and Mis-
Sangster knew she was loved, not for he
money, but for herself.